Howye fokes! How is things? Iíll tell ye, all us poor Teds is tryen ta do is ta heel the world by keepen the greenhouse gasses down and if them cows wonít make any admissions fer their emmissions all I can do is keep exploiten them fer the dang dung flingers what they are. As fer the abuse what theyíre hurlen at a poor innocint Teds just take a look at the letter below. MadDogTed is haven nonea it fer sure.

Hay Ted

You good for nothing flea bag. Who do you effin think you are writen that load of bullocks about how the cattle community is responsible for global warming? And whatís the big effin idea about insulting my girls, especially poor Harriet who wrote to you in an effort to defend our kin and kine? My girls are so upset at your attitude that many of them are refusing to eat, scared in case the world will abruptly end as soon as they put the next scrap in to their gobs. But worst of effin all, many of them are refusing me my conjugal rights, scared to bring any more destructive calves into the world. And where does that leave me, Teddyboy? Bull effin idle Ė thatís where.

Iíve been looking forward to a roll in the hay with Harriet Heffer for weeks now and Iím warning you, Buster, if you donít apologise at once Iíd advise you to dust down your togs cos youíll be going swimming in the slurry pit very soon.

Last Friday the 13th I awoke up ta the sun bursten through the winda and I decided that it were high time fer me ta dust down me summer gear. But as soon as I opened the wardrobe door I was furociously attacked and haff eaten alive by a hoard a starven moths. Lookily, Albear Camoo herd me screems and after the fierce fight what enscewed we managed hobble ta safety. We was fierce traumatized fer sure, but we bravely managed ta get inta the trook and drive ta the hospital fer ta get stitched up.

Well, there we was booten it down the road when suddenly Mr Slasherís Auntie Maud appeared outta nowhere and started ta flag us down. Albear hit the breaks fer sure, but unlookily they failed and we ploughed straight inta the poor woman, knocken her out stone cold. So we rang Mr Slasher with the terrable news and asked him fer ta come fer ta bring us all ta the hospital. He sed he couldnít understand what Auntie Maud was doen walken the roads cos she had just been discharged that mornen from the hospital with a cleen billa health and had told him not ta worry cos sheíd arranged a lift home.

Anyways, we waited and waited haff ded in the roasten heat fer Mr Slasher ta arrive. When he finally came we got the shocka our lives cos his face was all swelled up and his tongue, what was the size offa turnip, was rollen all over the place in and outta his mouth. Anyways, we managed ta get the gist a what happened ta him - somethin ta do with that gallopen trollop, Goldilocks, snaggen her nylons on a nail stook in one a the bar-stools, a ladder subsequently appearen on the sed nylons, a bee flyen under the sed ladder, a shot-glass suddenly fallen from nowhere on toppa the sed bee, the hysterical bee flyen inta Mr Slasherís open gob and stingen the daylights outta it.

Lookily, allís well what ends well and eventually we all got the medical attention we needed and arrived home, fierce quiet but feelen a biteen better in ourselves. Meself and Albear Camoo went straight ta see MadDogTed in case he was worried about where we was all day. Well, we found him still in bed fast asleep oblivious ta all the goens on. He was clutchen his looky rabbit's foot in one little paw and a note in the other. The note sed:

Well, we was too week fer ta batter the liven daylights outta him - even while he slept - and when he eventually awoke up and found out that his alarm never went off and heíd slept through the hole day, he hugged his looky rabbitís foot in delight and sed ďIs Friday the 13th me looky day or what!Ē

Howye fokes! How is things? Inspired by the the success of Albear Camoosís furst racy novel "A Bad Hare Day", MadDogTed decided ta have go at writen somethin in the Chick Lit vane fer himself, and his little offeren called "John with the Wind" is all about a weather cock called John what finds it hard ta find love cos heís stook on toppa the barn and never gets ta meet anyone and, as a result takes ta overdosen on beans fer ta fill the emotional void inside a him. Subsequently he gets a pernamint dose a the flatulince what grately effects his work cos heís never quite sure which way the wind does be blowen and ends up haven ta rely on his bunions fer ta predict the weather.

But then he meets the love a his life, Muriel the bat, what flies inta his life and she buys him some corn plasters fer his burthday and cures his bunions. A course, this means he can no longer forcast the weather cos as a token a her affections, Muriel just loves ta feed him beans and so he still hasnít a clue which way the wind does be goen. Anyways, as a result dosenít he lose his job and our pair a love burds end up bitter, twisted, fly-by-night renegades what spend the resta a their lives on the rampage, brutally gorgen the eyes outta any weathermen what crosses their path and violently knocken the heds offa any Child a Prague what gets in their way.

Basically, ya could say the the two a them completely lose the plot, which is really what MadDogTedís furst attempt at a romantic novel does from the very furst word what he wrote. Fer that reason, ya can imagine me surprise when he told me that heíd actually found a publisher fer his odious opus. And when I sed that his novel didnít quite embrace the sugary romantic essince a what Chick Lit is all about he sed, ďChick Lit, me f n arse, itís Sick Lit what I do be writen, fer sure!Ē And Iíll tell ye fokes, thereís no better Ted fer the job.

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